Tender Moment
by RobinLady-in-Waiting
Summary: Meg has a bad date and ends up at the consulate during a September rain storm. A short read. Just an idea that wouldn't let go until I wrote it. Set vaguely in the 3rd season.


_**Late September …. **_

_**Friday Night ….**_

Meg walked into the consulate, her short hair plastered to her head and her clothes soaked through to the bone. She hadn't been able to hail a cab or find a bus on her way home from the restaurant. It didn't help that she and her date had fought. He'd had the audacity to leave her at the restaurant without a ride home. Cold rain and wind gusts had chilled the Inspector to the bone. She wanted a hot cup of coffee and a solid alibi so that she could slash her date's tires.

Ben heard the front door open and the sound of heels on the hardwood floor. He saw the Inspector wearing a cocktail dress and heels, her dress hugging her curves. She shivered as she walked toward him and the kitchen farther into the building.

"Good evening, Inspector. I wasn't expecting you this evening." Fraser felt Dief push past his leg to investigate the late night visitor.

"I wasn't expecting to be back here either." she said through chattering teeth as she continued walking into the kitchen.

Gooseflesh bumped her skin exposed by the strapless dress. She'd never worn something so daring to consular events that Fraser could remember. The sweetheart neckline plunged, black sequins faded into satin dotted with small rhinestones. With her sky high block heels and rising hem line, it didn't look like Thatcher at all. The lady Mountie usually wore something more demure.

"Is there something I can do for you, Inspector?" Fraser followed her into the kitchen, hesitant to approach. Dief hadn't even bothered to follow. The alpha female radiated animosity.

"I'm fine, Constable Fraser, I won't melt." Thatcher didn't turn around, didn't move. She stood at the kitchen sink running hot water over her cold hands. She'd clinched them too long and now they felt crampy.

"It's quite cool, Sir, and you appear soaked to the skin, perhaps a blanket?" Fraser persisted. Thatcher looked pale, which concerned him.

"As I said before, Fraser, I'm fine." she turned the water off and turned around to face him. The Mountie stood near the door in his red long johns and bare feet. Meg hadn't turned on the overhead light. She knew her make-up had long ago smeared and given her raccoon eyes. Even so, she looked better than she felt.

"With all due respect, Sir, I would have to disagree." Fraser's low voice betrayed his concern as he met her gaze in the dim light from the security light outside. She wasn't alright if she were wearing a dress like that, alone, walking home in the rain and shivering.

"You don't know everything, Fraser." Meg countered, suppressing a tired sigh. The clock in the hallway chimed one o'clock. _"I should be in my large, warm bed asleep, not standing here with Fraser."_ Meg thought to herself. _"I want to be in my large, warm bed with Armand."_ That sounded even better. _"That would only happen if he weren't a man-whore jerk."_ Meg's expression gave her thoughts away.

"Inspector, allow me to make a fresh pot of coffee and fetch you a blanket." Fraser stepped closer, his feet protesting at the cold linoleum against the bare soles.

"You are such a mother hen, Fraser." Meg rolled her eyes, turning back to the counter. She began making her own pot of coffee. If only she could find a man as strong and dependable as her coffee.

"I don't wish to see anyone in distress, physically or emotionally." Fraser spoke, stopping in his tracks.

There wasn't anything for Meg to say. She hadn't meant to be insulting. Armand's bad behavior wasn't Fraser's fault.

"I suppose it wouldn't do for me to catch my death of cold." Meg ceded, turning to speak over her shoulder as she measured coffee into the filter. When she turned completely around Fraser had disappeared.

A moment later the overhead light snapped on. The Mountie and his wolf had returned, blanket in hand. Fraser wore a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, his red long johns still visible beneath the red and black checkered shirt.

"If you'll have a seat, Sir, I'll reheat the lasagna Mrs. Vecchio gave me earlier this evening." Fraser offered as he draped a soft, patchwork quilt over her shoulders.

"Thank you, Fraser." Meg sat down at the small, round table in the center of the large kitchen. The quilt smelled faintly of Fraser, his soap and aftershave. Meg pulled it closer around her, glad of its' warmth. She looked down at the worn material, each piece hand stitched.

"My mother made if for me."

Meg's head snapped up at his words. She'd been studying a block of thick, blue polyester with a teddy bear printed in the center.

"It's fine work." She shrugged down farther into the blanket, secretly savoring his clean, masculine scent. Armand had smelled of rich oils and spices not unlike some ladies' perfumes.

"It's all I have of her." Ben avoided eye contact. He didn't like to talk about his mother. Memories of her were few and precious; photographs and mementos even rarer.

"You were young when she passed?" Meg didn't know how to ask the question, or if she should. The microwave timer dinged before he could answer. She slipped out of her pinching shoes and laid her feet flat on the linoleum.

"Would you like Parmesan cheese with your lasagna, Sir?" he asked, standing beside the refrigerator.

"Yes, thanks." Meg's stomach rumbled at the smell of melted cheese, sauce and meat wafting toward her. She'd only gotten to eat half of a small portion of chicken Alfredo pasta. Slowly, she'd begun to warm up. Fraser brought the shaker of Parmesan Constable Turnbull had bought for an Italian recipes Francesca Vecchio had given him. Fraser set down a plate of lasagna and a large mug of coffee and then flatware for her. He sat down after pouring himself a mug of coffee.

Meg ate slowly, unsure of what she might find in Mrs. Vecchio's lasagna. There were diced green onions, loose hamburger, three different kinds of cheese and a few other good things she couldn't identify. It beat the dry chicken Alfredo dinner at the restaurant.

"I take it your evening didn't go as planned." Fraser tried conversation. He sipped his coffee, absently stroking Dief's head. The old wolf lay against Meg's bare feet, warming them with his fur and body heat.

"No, it certainly did not." She almost hissed, her dark eyes flashing like lightning.

"Are you alright?" Fraser asked, his blue eyes wide as he scooted to the edge of his seat.

"Calm down, Fraser, my virtue is still intact, even if my pride isn't." Meg shook her head, sending the last few drops of rain in her hair flying. Her usually straight hair had turned into soft, natural waves. Ben wondered what she'd look like if she let it dry that way.

The Mountie scooted back in the wooden seat, staring at his half empty coffee mug. He still felt protective of her. Ben didn't understand what she saw in the men he's seen her date. They flattered her but never saw her for the woman beneath the tailored business suit and pearls.

"This lasagna is very good." Meg changed the subject to something safe.

"It's Mrs. Vecchio's specialty, she's quite proud of it." Dief's tail thumped in agreement.

"As she should be." Meg put the last bite into her mouth, savoring it.

"There's more, would you like another helping?" Meg shook her head, she couldn't eat another bite.

"No, thank you, I'm ready to call a cab and go home." still wrapped in Fraser's blanket, she stood up and reached for her plate. He had the same idea, their hands colliding above the plain, white dish. Their gazes met and locked.

"Allow me, Sir." Fraser broke first. He couldn't look into those lovely, dark pools for too long without getting lost. Did she do that to him on purpose? Could she be unaware of her effect on him?

"Thank you, Fraser, I feel better." Meg pulled the blanket closer around her before turning to leave the room. She heard him set the dish in the stainless steel sink and run water on it, and then her mug. Quietly, Meg gathered up her shoes and walked down the hallway to her office. She picked up the phone but heard no dial tone.

"Damn, the storm must have knocked out the lines." The Inspector slammed the phone back down in its' cradle. She hadn't brought her cell phone either.

"The weather may improve in a few hours, perhaps it would be prudent to wait here at the consulate for a while." Fraser's voice startled Meg out of her thoughts. She clutched the blanket still around her shoulders. He'd materialized out of the darkness, his voice clearer than she'd ever heard it in the day light.

"I agree, I don't relish going back out in the rain dressed like this." Meg moved the blanket to indicate her cocktail dress.

"I could lend you a tee shirt and sweat pants, if you'd like to change." he stepped closer, his voice low but carrying, driving Meg crazy.

"I, uh, that's alright."

"To prevent a cold." he added.

"Yes, that is true." Meg ceded. The security light outside blinked before going completely out. Rain splattered against the windows, the only sound in the darkness.

"I couldn't get a cab now if I tried." Meg lamented with a sigh. In the darkness she saw a single match rise to life in Fraser's hand.

"I'll light a fire in the fireplace if you'd like to go into the sitting room, Sir." She followed the flame to the next door down the hall.

The consulate sitting room was a small affair, just large enough for a few dignitaries to have tea. At the far end lay the fireplace containing real logs. Turnbull took pride in keeping the brass screen shining like new. After a few minutes of fiddling, Fraser had a modest fire going. Meg sat down on the carpet in its' glow and warmth. Fraser disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a change of clothes and two flashlights.

"Here you are, Sir, I also brought a pair of socks for you." He held the neatly folded pile of clothes for her. Meg took them and went to the restroom to change. It was easier said than done. She wasn't wearing a bra and her lace panties were stuck to her clammy skin. The hardest part was pulling off her thigh high stockings. After all was said and done, Meg walked back into the sitting room, sans make-up. Fraser sat cross legged in front of the fire. A bag of marshmallows sat beside him, as did two switches.

"I didn't have all the materials for s'mores, I do have roasting marshmallows, if you'd like." Fraser looked up at her, fire light dancing across his face. Dief lay snoring in the corner of the room.

"I haven't had roasted marshmallows in ages." Meg sat down beside him where she'd left the blanket. She pulled it back up around her shoulders, self-conscious of her her bra-less-ness. Fraser handed her a marshmallow laden switch and then put his in the flames.

Meg preferred her's blackened. Once done, she had to wait for a flame finger to die down before pulling it toward her. Some of her favorite memories were of summer spent at camp, eating s'mores and listening to ghost stories around the fire.

"Marshmallows are often difficult to come by in the NWT, my grandmother would buy a bag for my birthday and we'd have roasted marshmallows and hotdogs that evening, just Grandmother, Grandfather and myself." Fraser looked into the flames, a smile picking at the corners of his mouth. Those had been good days, good birthdays.

"That sounds like fun." Meg began pulling her marshmallow off the switch, eating chunks off of her sticky fingers.

"Yes, I enjoyed it." Ben nibbled on his from the stick. Meg caught sight of the tip of his tongue cleaning away a sticky morsel. He was so effortlessly sexy. She couldn't stand to look at him for the thoughts running through her mind. Meg stood up and walked over to the window and pushed aside the drapes. Rain slapped the glass loudly, wind rattling the tree branches outside. She laid her hand on the glass, feeling the cold beneath her palm.

"Fraser," Meg spoke low.

"Yes." He answered neutrally. The fire cracked and popped in the fireplace.

"How did we end up like this?" Meg's voice registered barely above a whisper.

"Like what?" Ben had come to stand behind her. Meg could feel his presence behind her, looming close.

"Alone." She asked philosophically. Did Meg really sound as rough as she felt?

"Choices," Ben stepped closer, his voice very near her ear. "circumstances," his breath tickled her ear. "chance." he laid his hand beside her's on the cool glass, his chest against her back.

"I don't want to be alone." Meg closed her eyes and listened to the rain and felt Fraser's warmth. She didn't have the strength to fight anymore, not that night.

"You don't have to be tonight." Fraser found her other hand and wrapped his rough hand around hers. Meg leaned back, letting him support her.

"We can't, I shouldn't …." Meg pulled away, her voice trembling. Armand's words still rang in her ears. She'd overheard him tell a friend that she'd been easy and laughed about it.

"We won't." Ben's arms circled her again, his voice coaxing and steady. They stood like that for a while in companionable silence. Meg's yawn broke the spell.

"I should go, we both have to work tomorrow." Meg whispered, leaning comfortably against Ben's sturdy frame.

"Stay." he held her tighter, his cheek against her temple.

"Okay." she sighed, smiling to herself.

A while later they sat back down at the fireplace. Meg fell asleep in Ben's arms. Who needed Armand?

Dief walked into the sitting room and laid down beside his human. The old wolf hadn't seen him this content in ages. He and Fraser watched the alpha female sleep peacefully. She was kind of pleasant when she was a sleep.

"She is, isn't she, she's beautiful." Ben whispered. Dief grinned in agreement.

"I don't want this night to end." The Mountie didn't want morning to come; to take her away from him. Dief cocked his head to the right. From Fraser's body language, he felt sad. The wolf belly crawled over to Fraser's other side and lay against his thigh.

"I know you'll be with me, Dief, you always have been." The wolf's amber eyes expressed his love for his human.

Fraser held Meg until she woke up sometime around eight o'clock the next morning. She took a deep breath before moving. Her dark eyes blinked before she turned to see Ben sitting behind her, still holding her.

"Good morning." Ben greeted her with a smile in his voice.

"Hello, it's Saturday isn't it." Meg turned around to look up at him and the kindness in his blue eyes.

"Yes, the consulate is off duty today." Ben met her gaze, adoration in his eyes. Meg had seen that look in his eyes on top of the runaway train. She'd seen fleeting flickers of it since then as well.

"But that doesn't let us off the hook though does it." Adoration turned to sadness at her words. Meg wished she could take them back.

"It doesn't change how I feel right now either, I'm grateful for last night." Meg pulled Fraser's arms tighter around her as she sat between his legs. "I wish I could give you more than a lame 'thank you'." she began babbling.

"Shhh ….. It's alright." Ben pressed a chaste kiss against her temple.

_"It doesn't feel alright."_ Meg blew, puffing her cheeks, thinking to herself.

"Would you like breakfast?" Ben asked, breaking the tension. The fire had burned down through the night and the lights still hadn't come on.

"Yes, that would be nice." Meg reluctantly pulled away from Fraser and stood up. The Mountie stood up beside her and slid his arm around her shoulder in a friendly manner. She slid hers around his waist.

"Thank you, Fraser, I had a wonderful time last night." Meg smiled up at him. She didn't know what the future would hold but she hoped Fraser would always be in it, in some form or fashion.

"You're welcome, it was my pleasure." he squeezed her shoulder gently as they walked along together.

_Walking with a friend in darkness is better than walking alone in the light. _

~Helen Keller

**THE END**


End file.
